and it all seemed so simple, only fools rush in
by FinnFiona
Summary: Or, five times their connection is obvious to those around them, and one time they finally acknowledge it for themselves. Damon/Elena. Post-S3
1. Bourbon

**Author's Note: **So it turns out I couldn't stay away from these characters all summer. We'll be seeing new episodes soon enough, but I hope you enjoy this little diversion until then. We'll be getting a few different points of view on the Damon/Elena relationship with this story - first chapter with Matt, then I think Stefan, Caroline, Bonnie, Jeremy, and then finishing up with the genuine articles themselves. Don't be shy - leave a review and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter One: Bourbon**

"Barkeep. Another."

Matt glances over in time to see the tumbler slide past him and crash unceremoniously onto the floor.

Seems appropriate.

"Way-to-go, quarterback," Damon smirks to himself.

Matt swallows his annoyance and stares at the broken glass for a moment, getting lost in the sharp edges and glinting shards. They shimmer like water.

The part of him that isn't desperately clamping down on his own hurt and guilt and unfocused rage revels briefly in the mental image of making Damon pick the mess up for himself. But as much as he might think he deserves a good beating, Matt isn't feeling suicidal.

He realizes he's still staring at the shattered glass, getting lost in a hazy memory of the night that hasn't once loosened its grip on him. At least it's four in the afternoon and the place is empty, so he can ignore his own responsibility for a few minutes. Pick up the pieces later.

"I'm out of bourbon," Matt holds up an empty bottle, just in case the vampire doesn't believe him.

"So get another from the back," Damon says slowly, as though Matt might be short a marble or two.

Then again, he's hanging out with vampires and witches and werewolves on a regular basis, so.

"You drank through all of that, too," the impatience creeps into Matt's voice now. "Shipment comes in tomorrow."

Damon's face wrinkles in disdain. "What kind of bar doesn't have adequate quantities of bourbon?"

"It's not my fault you could drink this whole town under the table and barely have a buzz," Matt mutters, clattering around on the shelf. "I have scotch," he offers, fingers closing around the neck of the bottle.

Damon makes a lazy motion with his hand that Matt interprets as resigned approval, and pours him a fresh glass.

"Don't you have a pretty well-stocked liquor cabinet at home?" Matt asks grumpily, thinking fondly of the days when Damon didn't practically live at the Grill. But that was two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago – otherwise known as the time before Elena was a vampire. The time before everything went even more to hell than usual, when their collective scales got dangerously tipped and Matt ended up on the wrong side of the life and death equation. Again.

Still, a derisive snort is the only answer Matt gets to his suggestion that Damon start treating his home like a place he actually lives. It isn't the first time in the past fortnight that the vampire turns a sip of the amber liquid into a gulp, either. Not that Matt's keeping track or anything.

Given his recently acquired expertise in this area, Matt would guess that Damon is only just starting to feel the effects of the two bottles he's consumed thus far today. Ever since Elena turned – and proceeded to move out of her house and into the Salvatores' for fear of hurting Jeremy (among other reasons, Matt can only assume) – Damon has been The Grill's best (and worst) customer. Matt wouldn't say he's moping – in fact, come happy hour when the place fills up, any casual observer would say the guy was having fun.

Reckless, alcohol-fueled, controlled anger sort of fun. But fun, nonetheless.

No, not moping, Matt thinks – but definitely hiding.

Matt can understand that. He understands – maybe better than anyone else – just what kind of dance Damon and Elena have been doing lately. Not that he _actually_ _understands_ it, mind you, but he's been privy to more than a few of her indecisive musings lately.

And of course there was _that_ night.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Matt looks down to see Damon staring at him, and the realization comes slowly that he's been mopping at the same spot on the counter for the last five minutes.

"Not really," he counters mulishly. "You?"

Damon raises an eyebrow, looking almost impressed, before going back to his drink.

It looks awfully tempting, that irreverence.

_Screw it_, Matt thinks, pouring himself a double shot of the good stuff before he can think better of it, and leans against the back of the bar.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Matt takes a steady swallow, feeling the burn. "I'm having a drink."

"Do you have to do that _here_?" and Matt can tell Damon expects that practiced glare to scare the measly human away. But funnily enough, Matt isn't all that spooked, because it's starting to dawn on him – horrifyingly – just how much he gets where the elder Salvatore's headspace is at right now.

Best friend dies, girl you love rejects you, no one missing you or asking for your help in whatever latest backwards turn their lives have taken… yea, that sounds familiar.

"Look, man," Matt sighs, "I know you blame me for what happened, but it really doesn't compare to how much I blame myself."

Damon lets out a bark of strangled laughter. "Oh, sure – I mean, I do blame Klaus, and BarbieKlaus – and of course my idiot brother, and the good Doctor Fell," he sneers. "And I've gotta throw myself in the mix somewhere, because obviously a little self-loathing is really missing from this party. So thanks for your permission, but you're at least sixth on my list, Donovan."

They hold each other's gaze for a minute, before both taking a healthy swig.

Matt wonders if that bitter sense of revenge is what's keeping Damon here – in Mystic Falls, if not on this particular stool at this particular bar. But he doesn't really think so.

See, Matt Donovan knows from being hopelessly in love with Elena Gilbert, and he recognizes the signs.

When Elena broke his heart, all he'd wanted to do was drink beer and sit on his couch and try to be even remotely interested in the airhead girls that Tyler threw his way. Above all, he wanted to avoid _her_, as much as all he really wanted was to be with her. And he did.

And Damon… well – he's doing all of those things, but Matt doesn't really have to remind himself that he was there in that truck, and Elena didn't just break Damon's heart. (And distantly, Matt knows just how far off the deep end he is if he's not even really questioning the idea that Damon has a heart to break.) No, for all Elena knew, she pretty much left Damon to die alone that night.

Come to think of it, Matt isn't sure why Damon isn't getting the hell out of dodge and never looking back. Like right now.

"You must really love her," he shakes his head. Damon's eyes – lacking any pretense of amusement – lock in on him like a laser, and Matt realizes with a sickening twist of his stomach that he's said these last few words out loud.

The two men stare each other down for a moment, before Damon pushes forward his now empty glass, as if daring Matt to say anything else.

Matt silently shoots back the remains of his own drink, refilling the vampire's tumbler with his free hand. And as business starts to pick up, it's easy enough to go back to his duties and whatever will divert him from his own dark thoughts.

Still, every time Matt looks over, Damon's gaze hasn't wavered from his half-empty glass, even when the usual distractions start wandering in. So by some twisted and unspoken agreement, Matt keeps the scotch coming, and Damon's ring taps out a dull, unsteady rhythm against the bar.

It sounds like drowning, and things that really aren't so hard to understand when you're finally paying attention.


	2. Empty Spaces

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone for their kind words of encouragement, favorites and so forth. Please do keep the reviews coming - they are a great incentive to keep at it. Caroline's up next.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Empty Spaces**

"Are you leaving?" Stefan tries to sound disinterested. Fails.

"I'm sure you'd like that," Damon doesn't even bother to turn from the bag he's packing. Doesn't bother to inject his tone with much of his usual sarcasm, either, which worries Stefan more.

Sure, there was a time that Stefan thought getting physical space from his brother – _between_ his brother and Elena – that would make it easier.

What a joke that was.

Damon looks up at Stefan's silence, and there's nothing quite like the feeling that he's transparent under his elder brother's gaze.

"You've just been _waiting_ for me to hold up my end of our little deal, haven't you?" Damon's eyes narrow into his smirk, and the bitterness is thinly varnished with loathing.

"The thought crossed my mind," Stefan folds his arms across his chest in the doorway, unable to stop himself from biting back. Even though every fiber of his being wants to say – scream – _no, I've been hoping you forgot it. Please, forget it._

"Well I hate to break it to you, _brother_, but I think the terms of our agreement have… changed." There's a hitch that belies greater emotion at that last thought, a hitch that only Stefan could possibly notice. "And besides," Damon turns back to pick up his bag, "I made another promise to _her_ long before I agreed to travel your path of impossible wish fulfillment."

Stefan should have to ask what that promise was, but he doesn't really need to. He's sure it would just be another reminder of his own failures… and Damon's capacity to make up for them.

"So where are you going?" he asks instead.

"I've gotta get out of this backwards town for a couple days," Damon shrugs vaguely. But he's looking at Stefan blocking his exit like he might suffocate if he's forced to stay here a minute longer. "It's just so damn _repetitive_. And we keep running out of bourbon."

"Have you told Elena?"

"Nope," Damon smirks wider. "And you can feel _free_ to spin that your advantage." He taps Stefan on the chest by way of sidling past him.

"Why?" It sounds like a simple question but it never is. "Why now?"

Damon stops in the hallway, spins back. "No imminent threat, no tough decisions to make – I can tell when I'm not needed."

Stefan knows that Damon thinks Elena doesn't want his help – and honestly, Stefan should want to do everything to encourage that conclusion. Take advantage of the schism – for once not created by something Damon did or something Elena didn't do – but instead by a decision Stefan will regret for the rest of his preternaturally long life. He should be the _last_ one to argue, to recognize that Elena still thinks everything can be okay, and not so hard. Thinks she can be good. That the world is _good._

But they know better, don't they?

Damon chuckles darkly at Stefan's lack of response, turns again to go. "If anything disastrous happens," he holds up his cell, "you know how to find me."

_I need you_, Stefan could say. I_ need your help, even if _she_ doesn't realize she does too. I don't know _how_ to help her. I barely know how to help myself. _

But he doesn't say any of those things. Pride and 150 years of practice are excellent teachers. So Stefan lets Damon walk away, and tries not to feel so powerless.

* * *

"Is he coming back?" Elena asks when she finds Damon's empty room later that night. She tries to sound nonchalant for Stefan's sake, but she's not fooling anyone.

"Yea," Stefan answers, "I think so."

Funny, he can't even bring himself to call his brother a coward for running away. First to the bar and anything blonde that could walk, now to some other place entirely. Maybe because Stefan's wanted to do the same thing a million times over – just never had the presence of mind to take a beat before he drives himself over a cliff.

Or maybe Stefan is the coward for not being able to do this on his own, for not being able to face the hardest truths without breaking – for thinking his brother has to be here, no matter how much it hurts him.

And really, why is it that no matter how this falls out, nobody wins?

Elena just nods, looks into the darkened room one last time with a complicated expression, walks away slowly.

She's spent too much time moving through her life – her _death_ – like that… unhurried, as if still half underwater, forgetting to fight for air. When no one else is around, when her guard is down, when the exhaustion has set in – it's then that he thinks she's given up. But then he'll see her with Damon, and there's a hint of a spark again – whether he catches the end of an argument, or just a moment when she doesn't think his brother is watching, Stefan sees life in her eyes again.

When Elena looks at Stefan, all he can see is mourning.

Stefan will pretend like he can't hear her later, when she's crying softly to herself, voice muffled in one of the pillows on Damon's four-poster. And it won't be the first time – or the last, he's sure.

She's one of the strongest people Stefan knows – has handled this abrupt left turn in her life with an amazing sense of grace and resolve – or at least resignation. She's more like Damon and Caroline that way. More like everything Stefan wishes he could be, but knows he never will be.

But it would be incredible if she never broke down – never dropped that shield, or even broke through the underlying fog – never grieved, even for a moment, for everything she's lost.

Stefan just wishes she would trust him with those darkest moments of herself, instead of turning to his brother's empty bed.

If she just wanted to hide, she could have her pick of any one of fifteen spare rooms in the place. Stefan doesn't think she's doing it to hurt him. Maybe she thinks this is the one place he won't follow her. God knows Damon has been absent from this house often enough in the last few weeks, it's not hard for her to find a moment of solitude in his room. Though Stefan is pretty sure Damon surprised her at least once, coming back before she expected only to find that she'd invaded his space much like he had so often done to her.

Stefan _isn't_ so sure she wasn't hoping that might happen. And he won't pretend like he didn't stare at the old grandfather clock as she was crying into his brother's shoulder instead of his sheets, watching as the minutes ticked by into hours.

All he knows is she wouldn't look at either of them the next day.

So Stefan waits outside the door, wishing he could go in and comfort her. Wishing he knew what _would_ comfort her. Wishing he were more surprised that Damon seems to be better at that, even when he isn't there.

Mostly, Stefan wishes he could be selfish, and somehow cease to hope for his brother to figure out a way around his own demons that leads him back home. Wishes that that weren't selfish, too.


	3. Subverted

**Author's Note: **Thanks, everyone, for the support - keep the feedback coming (pretty please with sugar on top). I'm not sure about this chapter - it was a challenging one, to say the least. But I do know that this is probably the fastest I've ever updated anything, and that's thanks in large part to you guys.

Karen - this one, especially, is for you (I added a line or two - how close are you reading? ;) ) - thank you for helping me figure this one out!

* * *

**Chapter Three: Subverted**

Caroline is surprised when he answers her call on only the second ring.

That might imply he takes her seriously. And she's never learned to believe that.

"This had better be a three alarm fire, Caroline," Damon speaks without preamble. No _hi, how are you, how's the weather_. His tone a master class in incisive meets indifferent.

Which, really, is more what she expected.

"It is," she promises. It's not hard to feel his immediate shift in tension, even through the phone line. "Where are you?"

"What happened?" he counters.

"I'll… come explain," she hedges. "Tell me where you are." She knows it might seem ridiculous, but she's earned the right to look him in the eyes first. To see that he hasn't checked out completely, even if he skipped town for a week. To make _sure_ this wasn't a mistake, and that she isn't wrong about him.

Or really, to make sure that Elena was _right_, once upon a time.

Caroline can't let him take this news and do something destructive with it. Trusting him to help her best friend can't mean she's crazy, even if she's afraid everyone else would say it does.

Well, everyone except Stefan, who is simply too proud to call.

"So help me, Barbie, I can just come back to Mystic Falls and strangle you first."

It's funny, but she takes 'Barbie' as a good sign.

"There's no point in coming home," she sighs, worrying her lip between her teeth. "The problem isn't here."

"_You're _a problem there," he mutters. There's a silence in which Caroline implicitly knows he's rubbing his temple in resigned frustration. "You're going to insist on being stubborn about this, aren't you?"

"Yes," she answers, more firmly than she would have thought possible. But then, she has a lot of practice sounding confident when she's anything but.

There's a beat before he hangs up and texts her an address. Her foot is on the gas an instant later – too little time to think twice.

* * *

It doesn't take her long to get there. Still, the fact that 'there' seems to be a tucked away cabin on Albemarle Lake is her second surprise of the day. She's always thought Damon Salvatore's idea of taking a break would involve a lot more tall buildings, beautiful people, and free-flowing liquor.

Caroline puts the car in park, steeling herself for whatever radical shift to her worldview is next coming down the pipe.

Apparently this preparation takes too long, though, because the elder vampire appears out of nowhere, opening her door before she can do it herself. Lest she think this a gallant gesture, however, he doesn't budge from the spot, effectively boxing her in.

She's had just about enough of feeling _stuck_.

"Was there even a real emergency, or are the hybrids just not doing it for you anymore?" he leers down at her suggestively.

Caroline's mouth forms a moue of distaste to cover the spike of pain she feels at the thought of Tyler – the guilty twist at the thought of Klaus – and she uses her speed to slide past him.

Damon reads her expression, smiles darkly without it reaching his eyes. "Then what's with all the jumping through hoops?" he crosses his arms. "What couldn't you say over the phone? And don't tell me it's a girl's prerogative to be vague and confusing. That got old 50 years ago, when at least women knew how to be coy and alluring."

"Well with the way you've been acting lately, I wasn't sure you'd even care – and then you just up and left town," Caroline starts, her voice rising with a hint of righteous indignation.

"I'm coming _back_," Damon matches her exasperation. They were always good at that.

"Well how am I supposed to know that?" and she's really getting into this now, venting all of the frustration and uncertainty she's been holding back these past few weeks and throwing it at Damon – no matter that he's not really the source of her troubles. He's an easy target, anyway. "All I see is a guy who abandons the people he claims to care about when the going gets rough and life doesn't work out his way."

"_Jesus_," he rolls his eyes, "haven't you ever heard of a vacation? You seem like you could use one."

"I don't take vacations when my friends need me," she feels her cheeks getting hot. "I am _not_ going to ask for your help if you're just going to make things worse. Elena doesn't need that – not after what happened – not when she—"

Damon is in her face so fast it rips the words right out of her mouth. And it takes every ounce of willpower not to shrink back from his invasion of her personal space.

Absently, she notes that he doesn't smell as much like bourbon as he has every other time she's seen him in the last few weeks. She supposes this is a point in his favor.

"What happened to Elena?" he grits out, searching her eyes – his own countenance now deadly serious. That look does more to convince her that this wasn't a fool's errand than anything else he could have said.

"She ran away," Caroline says soberly.

Damon takes a step backward, quirks his head – almost seems like he wants to laugh, which bristles at Caroline more than it should. "So?" he shrugs, and he's definitely nonplussed by this development.

"_So_," Caroline frowns. "I'm worried about her." His nonchalance pushes all her buttons, much as she wishes she didn't have any buttons to push.

"It's part of the process. All the baby vamps run away at some point," Damon leans against her car.

_Some old ones, too,_ she thinks, looking around. "_I_ didn't run away," Caroline points out.

"Well, you're not normal," he smirks at her. "We know that."

"Damon, she _killed_ someone," Caroline lights the fuse she's been most afraid of, and yet she's perversely gratified that the gravity she's been dealing with just hit him like a ton of bricks. "It was an accident – Elena – she… she lost control," Caroline continues, "but you know how she is – it was eating her up. Stefan caught her twirling stake over her heart that night," she swallows, and Caroline can see that she has Damon's full attention now. "He tried – I'm _sure_ he tried, but Elena didn't want to hear it, and I think Stefan was as angry with himself as he was with her, and they just – she just… They fought, and she ran off." She finishes with her heart in her throat.

The elder Salvatore hasn't moved from his position against the car, but the tension is radiating off of him in every direction now. "When did this happen?" he asks quietly, his voice masking the tumult of emotion she can see in his eyes.

"Three days ago," she admits, looking down.

"_Three days ago_?" he stares at her incredulously. "And you're just telling me _now_?"

"Stefan – he's been gone looking for her, but he didn't—"

"Yea, I know my brother," Damon snaps, cutting her off and looking disgusted – with them, or with himself, Caroline isn't certain. Maybe a little of both.

"Well no one else knows," she watches him move quickly around the small property, producing a bag from somewhere in the house and slamming his car trunk shut. "No one except Bonnie – she's the one who found Elena, and she… she didn't—"

Caroline stops short when Damon spins to look at her. "What did the little witch do?"

"Nothing," she lies, not very convincingly. Caroline has no idea what Bonnie has gotten herself into lately – isn't sure what she said to Elena, or how else they could explain the scorched earth where Stefan eventually found the remnants of Elena's mistake. But Caroline isn't ready to sell her friend out to Damon's impulsiveness. Not yet.

"She's lucky I have bigger things to worry about," Damon intones, staring out at the lake for a moment before returning his attention to the here and now. Caroline should probably be more concerned about that statement, but she's still too relieved to know that someone else is shouldering this burden with her.

And, in surprise number three, she realizes that not only is she remarkably unbothered by sharing that weight with Damon, but she's actually comforted by the fierce protectiveness visible in his every motion.

She takes a deep breath, and tells him everything they know – everyone they've talked to, everywhere they've looked. He nods along, jaw locking with resolve, gears turning a mile a minute.

Caroline watches him drive away, hoping she made the right decision. Hoping she didn't make it too late.

* * *

She's made her way through nearly a fifth of whiskey, sitting alone at her dining room table. It's a little too much like her memories of her mother, when her dad left all those years ago.

The irony that she might be turning into her mom after all isn't lost on her.

Adrift as she is in her own stew of emotional baggage, she almost misses the soft knock at the back door. But an unexpected visitor at 4:32am does wonders at clearing her clouded head, and makes her fangs itch in her gums with anticipation.

She opens the door slowly, ready for the next bump in the night, only to find that Damon accomplished in a few hours what they couldn't even manage given a few days.

She takes the first deep breath she's taken in a long time.

And yet, because she's a little drunk, or maybe because it's in her nature, she narrows her eyes. "What did you do to her?" she asks of the prone, unconscious form in Damon's arms.

For once, Damon has the good grace to know he probably deserves her suspicion, but it doesn't stop him from leveling her with a weary stare. "Always expecting the worst in me, Blondie."

Seeing her best friend nestled so carefully in his grasp, looking for all the world like he's done this a hundred times before, Caroline almost feels ashamed.

"She's had a lot to drink," he explains. "Passed out."

Caroline nods, stepping back to let him in before she thinks to ask why he brought Elena here, and not to her own home – or to his.

"She didn't want to go back to casa Gilbert _before_ all this," he answers simply, following Caroline as she leads the way to her bedroom. "And she ran _away_ from the Boarding House… Besides," he adds with only a touch of cynicism as Caroline turns the duvet down, "you have her best interests at heart, right?"

He doesn't watch for any response, just lays Elena ever so carefully amongst the covers. When he gingerly brushes the hair away from her face, runs his fingers gently across her forehead, Caroline suddenly feels as though she's intruded on the most private of moments.

It makes her heart ache – for the boy she's missing, for a touch she wonders if she's ever known.

And for the first time, Caroline questions her certainty in declaring the younger Salvatore the one true choice for Elena Gilbert.

Caroline doesn't questions her convictions lightly. Her stomach lurches uncomfortably at the thought.

She's still lost in thought when Damon walks past her, back the way he came. "Wait," she calls out softly, closing the bedroom door behind her. She still has questions.

She catches up with him back in the kitchen. One hand on the doorknob, he looks at her – tired and wary.

"How did you find her?"

The smallest of smiles crosses his features, amused by some private revelation. "You just have to know where to look," he answers, maddeningly ambiguous.

She can tell she's hit upon something she'll never get a straight answer to, but she's still worried – needs to know she won't just be waiting for her best friend to cut and run, to leave them again. "How did you convince her to come back?"

"You mean aside from throwing her over my shoulder, kicking and screaming?" he tries to joke, but his demeanor is lacking something of his usual easy irreverence. Still, it does nothing to alleviate the stab of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

"Relax, Caroline," he sighs, opening the door a fraction, not quite looking her in the eye anymore. "I did exactly what you would have done – told her that you need her, and that _she_ needs her friends. That Jeremy needs his sister."

Caroline isn't sure what to say to that, except that it doesn't escape her notice that he didn't throw himself – or even Stefan – into that argument.

"And…" he continues, looking away entirely, "I told her I was sorry for not being here… _again_. And that whether she likes it or not, the next time she comes up to the edge, I'd be there to stop her. And if she falls anyway, I'll be there to catch her. Who knows, maybe she heard me better than my idiot brother ever did… would save us a world of trouble."

When he meets her eyes again, Caroline sees a thousand experiences laid bare – memories that she never even guessed at, and may never understand. And the strange feeling that's been building in her chest all evening is swelling, threatening to knock the breath out of her at the slightest extra push. She _was_ wrong after all, so very wrong.

Just not about what she expected.

"Don't look so shocked," he raises an eyebrow. "I occasionally do the right thing, you know."

"I know…" she whispers. And she does – and she really shouldn't be so surprised anymore. Not after today, at least. "What do I tell her when she wakes up?" she asks, no longer so afraid to let her vulnerability and her fears tinge the edges of her words. Mostly, she's just ready to feel a little less alone in this – in _everything_. And she's starting to realize that if it's Damon standing at her side in this moment, well… that might be okay with her.

"You're a smart girl, Caroline," he says, remarkably sincere, "you'll figure it out."

She wishes she shared that confidence. "Do you want to be here..?" she offers, before she can think better of it.

"No," Damon answers almost too quickly, but firmly enough all the same. "But I'll take this, hmm?" he adds, picking up her abandoned bottle of whiskey from the table.

She nods, lets him leave as she watches from the door frame. "Damon?" she calls one more time, when he's nearly back to his car. It's a moment before he turns back to look at her, a neutral, somber expression carefully affixed to his features. "Thank you."

He inclines his head once, and melts into the darkness.


	4. Doubt's Allegiance

**Author's Note: **I will readily admit that I am not a huge Bonnie fan - but this felt like a necessary chapter in the story, so I tried to tough it out. I went through several messy iterations before I landed on this, so I'm sorry if it's not up to snuff...

The good news? (At least, I hope you'll think it's good news.) If this doesn't strike your fancy, I'm going to try to have the Jeremy installment up tomorrow. Either way, I hope you'll let me know what you think. Thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

**Chapter Four: Doubt's Allegiance**

The sense of guilt is met with blame in equal measure. Both are overwhelming – and corrosive.

The darkness makes her feel better. Some small comfort – reassurance – when everything else has gone so wrong.

How many times did Bonnie try to pull herself away – pull Elena, pull _all_ of her friends away – only to get drawn back into this mess of an existence? Back to the life and death stakes. Back to the constant loss. Back to the vampires and all of the other monsters besides.

And whose fault is that?

It's a futile argument now. They're all falling, one by one, becoming the things that scare Bonnie the most. The things she's supposed to hold in check. To hate. Bonnie craves balance with every fiber of her being, and it claws at her with dark, cruel talons. Every minute. Every day.

Their lives, they don't balance anymore. Shouldn't she do something about that?

It feels like she's exhausted all of her options, though. All but the one that might not even save herself.

So she leans against the flickering streetlamp, and watches her old life play out in a twisted vignette, feeling her heart wrap itself in a decision she might have started making months ago. She watches as Elena – having finally returned to her childhood home armed with Caroline's reassurance that she wouldn't let anything happen to her baby brother – passes innocently by the kitchen window. Looking almost normal. Happy, even.

Bonnie isn't all that surprised when Damon appears at her side, his eyes trained in the same direction as hers.

"Your stalking skills lack a certain finesse," he says casually as he sends a message on his phone.

"Go away, Damon," Bonnie mutters. She's so tired. Feels like she's already had this fight and lost it a thousand times over.

He waits long enough to see Elena step out onto the Gilbert porch, framed by the swath of warm, yellow light behind her. "Bonnie?" Elena calls into the gloom.

"Hurt her – _hurt any of them_ – and I will _end_ you," Damon promises with a whisper in Bonnie's ear. And then he's gone.

And as much anger as Bonnie has for him, for Elena – for the path their lives have taken – there's something in her that responds to that intensity, and at the same time wonders when the tables turned so drastically. When they all got buried under so much hurt and change and _death_ – permanent and impermanent, and never fair.

She can feel the power tugging at the corner of her consciousness, begging her to abandon this one, final attempt at accepting something she has no hope of understanding. To let herself get swept away.

When Bonnie doesn't make a move, Elena strides towards her – the barest hint of hesitation in her step. Bonnie doesn't fail to notice Elena's eyes lingering a moment too long on the space where the elder Salvatore had stood.

"I was just leaving," Bonnie bites out with as much steel as she can manage.

"No – Bonnie, wait," Elena says, a plea in her voice, still more in her eyes.

"What for? We have nothing to talk about. I hardly even recognize you anymore, Elena." And it's painfully true. Had been, even before she died.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me," Elena presses anyway, "not after..."

_After you almost killed me_ goes unsaid, but hardly forgotten.

Bonnie closes her eyes, thinking she doesn't want to remember, but there's a certain strength in the latest source of her convictions.

And the tide of power keeps rising.

"Are you even sorry for what you did?" Bonnie asks. _Has_ to ask.

"Of course I am," Elena looks stricken, "I never—"

"And yet here you are," Bonnie cuts her off, "laughing with your friends within a week as though nothing has changed. So what, Damon brought you home, explained how you didn't have to feel remorse for the puny humans? He's not going to help you, Elena. None of them are."

Elena's gaze shutters a bit. "You don't know him at all," she says quietly.

"Do _you_? Do you understand what he is? What _you_ are? Do you know what I did – _what I gave up_ – to try to keep you from turning – from having to live this life?" Bonnie lets it bubble out of her in staccato notes.

"I'm so sorry, Bonnie, I never meant for any of this to happen," Elena intones sadly. "You can't think for a second that I _wanted_ this."

"And yet you just kept running towards it," Bonnie raises an eyebrow, crosses her arms. Closes herself off even further.

"I never wanted you to get hurt," Elena pauses, hesitates at an opening, "or turn to something you shouldn't have – something you can't handle..."

And that bristles. She wonders what Jeremy told her.

Wonders why the thought of Jeremy can still threaten to make her care.

"Spare me the judgment," Bonnie lets out a short, derisive burst of disbelieving laughter. "We've both made our choices."

It's everything Bonnie can do not to show the sadness that she feels, knowing where those choices have led. To two girls, standing in the road – two ends of a life incredibly short and unendingly long.

"It doesn't have to be this way," Elena says with a quiet urgency as Bonnie turns to walk away.

"It already is," can be Bonnie's only answer. And she feels the darkness coming, and knows it will only get worse.

Except it doesn't look so much like darkness anymore, and she's tired of running from it.

* * *

There's a funny thing that happens when she taps into the energy that she needs to cast a spell. It's a stretching, a realignment – her toes feel like lead, anchored into the earth and all of its power.

The rest of her is flying.

It's electric, a rush like nothing else she's ever experienced. She would stay like this forever, if it wouldn't eventually kill her. Though sometimes, it feels so good, so _persuasive_ – she almost forgets what's waiting for her if she doesn't stop.

As the spell clicks into place, everything snaps into a brutal clarity. She suddenly remembers that she's in the middle of a battle unlike any Mystic Falls has ever been subjected to. And yet, with the magic coursing through her veins, it looks so far away, so abstract. Bonnie breaths it all in, disinterested.

She watches them all pitching back and forth around her, and wonders how they got here. How _she_ got here, to this place, this time, and in that fleeting flash of lucidity, she wonders if she's chosen the wrong enemies.

If she even has any _allies_, besides the power.

It hits her like a shockwave, and the spell falters for a moment, threatening to trap her back in the cruel confines of her body. And it hurts like hell, because she felt for a moment like she might finally be free of all of this.

The pain makes her desperate, and Bonnie reaches out again for the darkness, the magic that's living in the shadows. So seductive, it envelops her and makes her strong. And she watches as the world shifts.

Surrounded by so much movement, it's hard to focus on anything or anyone – hard to see whose side is winning.

No matter. She's not on anyone's side anymore.

But out of the blur rise two figures, working in tandem, moving like one organism – one terrible, destructive force.

It's beautiful.

Bonnie sees this unstoppable vision moving ever closer, smiles a grotesque twist of her lips in anticipation. Because they're coming for her.

She isn't sure how they're doing it – Elena as young as she is, Damon as unpredictable as ever – but Bonnie is seeing it plain as day, and it can't be denied. They seem to enjoy some unspoken link, some inner power made more formidable by their union.

They're not supposed to be on the best of terms, but you wouldn't know it tonight – anticipating each other's movements, matching grace and ferocity pitch for pitch. Maybe the dire circumstances demanded that the walls come down – that there be no barriers to the trust that seems so natural to them. And as much as Bonnie has never really understood that trust, this is the first time she's seen it without her own emotions getting in the way.

It's also the first time Bonnie realizes just where their lives have truly changed. And _when_.

It was longer ago – so much _longer_ ago than she thought.

By the time they reach her, Bonnie feels so detached, so wrapped up in the voices and their energy that she sees more than feels the tears streaming down her face.

Damon gets to her first, just a split-second faster, his fingers rough and bruising around Bonnie's shoulders. His eyes scream of too much death.

And yet they are the same eyes Bonnie saw under that streetlamp. Eyes she's surprised she didn't recognize, because she's seen them before. Eyes that only want to protect that which he holds most dear.

"No!" Elena's voice sounds to Bonnie like it's travelling through water. Muted. Unfocused. She turns her head in time to see her oldest friend push Damon out of the way. There are tears on her cheeks, too.

Some of them are red.

These past few weeks, Bonnie hasn't been able to look at Elena without seeing what she has become. But for a moment, she finally sees the little girl she grew up with again. It's a nice thought, if a futile one.

Damon sweeps back into her field of vision, but his back is to Bonnie and Elena now, protecting them both.

"I didn't know it would last…" Bonnie breaths, feeling the pain set in slowly. She's not flying anymore.

"What?" Elena yells over the din, fights to hear her, eyes frantic.

Bonnie smiles sadly. Back when Elena was still alive, still really and truly alive, Bonnie had watched her trying to bring out Damon's humanity. And in turn, she had seen him try to help Elena find the fire she didn't know she had, much less trusted herself to wield.

Bonnie never thought it would stick back then, much less when everything changed so radically. And besides, until tonight, Bonnie had never been convinced it was even possible for him, or a good idea for her.

And yet here they are.

His eyes that want to protect, and her eyes that want to be understood. To be loved. To know how to go on.

"Bonnie..?" Elena whispers as they both sink to the ground. "_Bonnie_?"

Bonnie feels the darkness surging again, buoying her even as she feels the hard, cold rocks underneath her knees. It's going to be all right… it's all right…

All right…

"It's all right," she promises, "he made you strong."


	5. Sentinel

**Author's Note: **In possibly my personal fastest turnaround time ever, I present to you the Jeremy chapter... if you're all very good readers, with lots of sugar and cherries on top, I'll try to have the last (Damon and Elena) chapter up on Tuesday, in time for the Thursday premiere - which is coming our way so very, very soon..!

* * *

**Chapter Five: Sentinel**

Jeremy wakes with a start, disoriented. The sound of soft tears he fell asleep to has been replaced by the dull hum of the television downstairs. A quick peek through the doorway reveals his sister sound asleep, ensconced amongst blankets and wrapped around her childhood teddy bear.

It would be a comforting sight, if it weren't for the now unknown visitor downstairs.

Jeremy closes the door quietly, retreats to his room to grab the crossbow from beside his bead, adrenaline pumping. Poised at the ready, he creeps down the stairs as silently as he can.

"Good," comes an approving voice from the living room just as Jeremy alights on the bottom stair, "you're learning."

"Damon," Jeremy breaths shakily, the hyper-vigilance draining out of him just as suddenly as it arrived. "I could have shot you."

Damon turns to eye the crossbow now hanging limp in Jeremy's right hand. "Yea," he smirks, turning back to the nearly muted movie on the screen, "okay."

"Does Elena know you're here?" Jeremy comes to stand behind the couch, taking in the beer bottles scattered across the coffee table – the way the hazy, uneven blue glow of some black and white movie Jeremy has never seen throws the vampire's features into stark relief.

"Nope," Damon answers around a swig of beer. "You going to go tell her?"

"No… she should sleep, anyway," Jeremy answers. Adds carefully, "You know she and Stefan broke up tonight?"

As if – after battling with vampirism and her best friend of late – this is her biggest worry.

Damon's expression clouds ever so slightly. "Had a front row seat to the whole sordid mess, so to speak," he taps his ear. "Left Stefan to wallow with a bottle of my best bourbon, too," he glances sideways at Jeremy, "so never say I'm not a good brother."

Oddly enough, a bad brother is not something Jeremy would accuse Damon of being. At least, not anymore.

"Is that why you're here?" Jeremy frowns. "Because I really don't think—"

Damon cuts him off with a withering glare. "I'm not here to throw myself at your sister," he practically rolls his eyes.

Because that's such a foreign concept, Jeremy thinks sardonically, even as he knows something has shifted. Happened some time ago, if he's being honest.

"Then why are you here?" Jeremy asks.

"My reasons haven't changed…"

* * *

_"Dude – you scared the hell out of me," Jeremy breaths out, exasperated, though the sight of Damon sitting casually in his living room doesn't exactly uncoil the tension in the pit of his stomach._

_"Glad to hear I haven't lost my touch," Damon ignores his distress. "You really shouldn't go searching out strange noises without a weapon," he adds, standing with a lazy stretch and walking towards the kitchen as though he has the run of the place._

_Then again, he apparently does. _

_Jerk._

_Jeremy follows the vampire cautiously, finds him standing in front of the refrigerator, distinctly perturbed. _

_"You're out of beer."_

_"Sorry we couldn't accommodate you," Jeremy answers sarcastically. _

_Damon just shrugs, turns back to Jeremy across the kitchen island. "How are you liking your impromptu bachelor pad?" he sounds casual, but his gaze cuts through Jeremy like a well-sharpened knife._

_"It's fine…" he shifts uncomfortably. He's not about to tell Damon that he wishes his sister wasn't afraid to come home – afraid of what she might do to him._

_Wishes a small, dark part of him wasn't afraid of that, too. _

_"Uh huh," Damon raises an eyebrow, "your sleeping habits are very convincing."_

_Jeremy feels an uncertain tendril wend its way through him, counting how many hours of sleep he's lost in the week since Elena turned, and getting the distinct feeling Damon isn't just talking about tonight._

_"Just how often have you been here, man?" Jeremy's brow knits with a curious mixture of embarrassment, annoyance, and more relief than he'd like to admit. _

_"Often enough," Damon demurs._

_"Look – if you don't want to go home, there are other places you can be. And if you think you're looking out for me, well – I'm not here to tally brownie points between you and my sister," Jeremy snips out, hoping he sounds more confident than he feels._

_Damon smiles wryly. "Elena doesn't know where I am, and I have no intention of telling her. And, young Gilbert, I think this is exactly where I should be."_

_Damon's voice slides so easily from derision to sincerity, it takes Jeremy aback. "Why?" the questions slips out unbidden._

_"Because you _do_ need looking after, and no one should have to live alone," he answers simply, and as much as Jeremy would like to retort that he can take care of himself, something about Damon's posture – this conversation – this situation – seems familiar. _

_For awhile, the house is well-stocked with food _and_ liquor again, the dishes are never left in the sink, and the stakes are always sharpened. Jeremy even finds his history paper corrected with decidedly colorful – if accurate – notes, ready and waiting by a plate of piping hot bacon and eggs one morning._

_It isn't until a few late nights and a number of six-packs later that Jeremy recognizes Alaric in some of Damon's habits, and remembers that Elena hasn't been the only person in Damon's life who would have considered Jeremy's safety and wellbeing to be something worth worrying about. _

_He does start sleeping better, in spite of himself._

* * *

Jeremy takes a moment to process this before accepting the bottle that Damon holds out to him. The beer is a little warm, but it tastes good. Familiar.

Jeremy could use all the familiarity he can get. He'll keep smiling through it, even as wonders how long it will take to get used to the new trajectory of their lives.

Probably just long enough for everything to get turned on its head again.

"You haven't shown up the last few weeks," Jeremy comments, keeping his eyes trained steadily on the classic film still playing – watches as the actor onscreen laughs heartily. He thinks its Carey Grant.

Distantly, Jeremy knows this shouldn't feel as normal as it does – sitting here with Damon Salvatore of all people. But normal is a relative state of being, now.

"Caroline's been here since Elena moved back in," Damon takes another swig of beer.

"But she's not here tonight…" Jeremy is starting to read between the lines.

"No, she's not," Damon opens a new bottle.

"You're afraid Elena will lose control?" and the wary alertness Jeremy never truly leaves behind ratchets up a few notches.

Damon looks at him askance. "Relax, kid. Maybe I just missed your sullen teenage cynic routine. It's a real _hoot_."

Jeremy purses his lips in resigned aggravation. But Damon isn't really who he's angry with. "She doesn't really talk to me anymore," he admits after a moment. "She just…"

_She keeps making all of the choices for me._

"You have to give it time," Damon offers.

It's not a satisfactory answer, as far as Jeremy is concerned.

"How much time?" he needs this answer more than he realized. "I don't have as much as you do, you know," he adds mulishly.

Damon sets his empty bottle on the coffee table, looks back at him. "Don't go there. You're too young to be such a pessimist. That's my M.O."

"Everything that's happened? I think I'm just old enough, thanks," Jeremy retorts.

They stare at each other stubbornly for a moment, before their silence is interrupted by the shuffle of footsteps on the stairs.

"Jer..?" Elena's voice calls down groggily. "Jeremy is that you?" She arrives in the hall before either of them can respond, answering her own question. "_Damon_…" she speaks his name without any real air behind it.

The whole room feels like it's been sucked into a vacuum, in fact. Looking between them, Jeremy remembers why he wasn't all that surprised to learn that it was Damon who found her, when she'd given up those few weeks ago. He'd brought her back to them. Back home.

"Go check the freezer," Damon breaks the charge, standing and looking away.

"What?" she frowns. Jeremy doesn't understand this seeming non sequitur any better than Elena does.

"_Chunky Monkey_ is still your favorite, right?" he asks as though it's obvious, even as Jeremy can see him wince slightly at her puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

She blinks once, twice – looks between Jeremy and Damon like a puzzle that doesn't fit. Walks obediently into the kitchen, anyway.

"Try not to give her a hard time," Damon looks down at Jeremy as the freezer door opens. "Let her know you didn't give up on her, okay? I won't be far."

Jeremy swallows, nods his promise.

Damon smirks, picks up the last bottle of beer. "One for the road," he says by way of explanation, saunters unceremoniously out of the front door.

Elena comes back in time to see it close behind him, a pint of Ben & Jerry's and two spoons clutched a little too tightly in her fingers.

She holds one out to Jeremy, who takes it with a grin that she tentatively returns. She tucks her feet underneath her on the couch, turning up the TV volume as Jeremy takes a first stab into the ice cream.

Elena watches the film for a moment, quiet. "Do you know how this one ends?" she asks, not taking her eyes from the screen as she dips her spoon in next to his.

Jeremy watches her for a moment. "No idea," he confesses.

She smiles – more genuine than he's seen in a long time. "Me either."


	6. Verity

**Author's Note: **You guys..! I'm so sorry I didn't get this up as quickly as I'd hoped. Last week was beyond insanity, though, and I wanted to try and get this right. I did write this, for the most part, before I'd watched the premiere - which... is probably a good thing. And that's all I'll say about that.

I've really appreciated all of your good feedback and support with this story - I hope you'll find this to be at least a somewhat satisfying conclusion. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter Six: Verity**

Damon Salvatore has watched thousands of sunrises, but he's never seen the beginning of a day full of so much finality.

He's tired of pining, and avoiding, and torturing himself. It's embarrassing, and it makes him feel weak. Watching the rays of light peek over the horizon, it seems like an invitation to close the last chapter and open a new one – one where his life isn't spun around a girl with brown hair and dark, unknowable eyes.

Moving on from Katherine hurt, but it never felt wrong, and Damon is an expert at biting through the pain. So really, moving on from Elena…

Well, it seems like it should be easier.

He spins the ring on his finger with an ironic smile, before jumping down from the upper eaves of the Boarding House – almost immediately regretting the loss of solitude, as the myriad sounds of the world come back into sharper focus.

Of course, the one sound he'd originally gone onto the roof to escape – the monotonous drone of his brother's incessant pacing – is suspiciously absent.

Still, they haven't been brothers for almost two centuries for nothing.

Damon finds Stefan in the basement, and the satisfaction he feels at locating him so easily fades at the look on his brother's face – cast in the eerie glow of the open cooler, packed to the brim with blood bags.

Stefan doesn't look at him, even as the tension in his jaw acknowledges Damon's presence.

"So," Damon leans against the opposite wall, "you ready to do this right?"

Stefan finally looks up, meets Damon's eyes with an expression not unlike the one he wore those many years ago on his first day of school. Or the day of their mother's funeral.

It's a look that makes Damon swallow hard, before nodding firmly.

_I'm not going anywhere_.

Stefan takes in a short, deep breath, stepping forward. Damon pours the crimson liquid into a stray glass, holds it out.

"C'mon," Damon grins with mixture of sadness and pride as Stefan drains it down, "I'll buy you breakfast."

* * *

Elena can't pull her eyes away from the scene – Damon and Stefan, throwing darts into the Grill's bull's-eye, for once managing not to look like they'd rather be tossing them at each other. She's not sure if she's ever seen them both smiling and laughing at the same time.

It would be disconcerting, if it didn't melt her heart. Even as it twists in a little knife of guilt.

"Hello…?" Caroline's voice cuts through. "Earth to Elena… you still with us?"

"Sorry," Elena pulls her focus back with an apologetic smile, trying to pretend like she's been listening to Caroline's chatter about possible prom themes.

"What's up with you today?" Caroline narrows her eyes. "You've barely touched your pie," she adds, gesturing at the plate in front of her and the idle fork in Elena's fingers. "Guilt-free desserts are one of the primary benefits of being a vampire, you know."

Elena laughs a little at that, but she doesn't feel like eating.

Jeremy glances up from his homework long enough to look between Elena's untouched plate and her line of sight. "Damon said Stefan's been thinking about going off the bunny diet," he offers, carefully casual, turning back to his textbook.

"Really?" Elena asks, curious when Caroline doesn't seem surprised by this news. She turns from her brother to her friend. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Well…" she searches Elena's expression thoughtfully. "He can't keep living in denial, you know? Besides, Damon will be there to help him."

Elena raises an eyebrow at these words coming out of Caroline's mouth.

"What?" Caroline shrugs, shifting to sit up straighter. "He does do _some_ things right."

Elena smiles slightly. "Yea…" she almost whispers. "He does."

Caroline goes back to pros and cons of "starry night" versus "disco inferno," but Elena can't even pretend like she's listening anymore. The thoughts racing through her mind are running in rhythm to the rapid beats in her chest.

"I'll see you guys later, okay?" she stands abruptly, causing both Caroline and Jeremy to look at her with concern. "I'm fine," she assures them, "I just need to think."

She doesn't wait for a response, just books it out the service door and into the back alley. Being outside makes her feel like she can breathe a little bit easier, but it does nothing for the anxious energy coursing through her veins. So she starts walking.

It feels right to walk, slowly, deliberately, one foot after another. The pattern is a numbing distraction, so much so that she hardly realizes where she's going or how much time has passed. She doesn't really start paying attention until she recognizes that she's arrived at the little stretch of road where her parents picked her up the night of the accident, that little bend in the clearing where – she now knows – she first met Damon.

A feeling of belonging sweeps over her, and she sinks downward, the exhaustion seeping into her bones. Lying back in the road, knowing she shouldn't be – _can't_ be –anywhere else right now, she watches the stars start to twinkle to life in the twilit sky.

"You can tell them not to worry, Damon. And you don't have to hide in the shadows," she takes a chance, trusting her sense of certainty that he's there – protecting her from a distance.

She can't stifle the smile that crosses her lips when his footsteps emerge from the trees, wishes his own expression wasn't so serious when he comes into view above her.

"Hunting someone?" he quirks an eyebrow at her prone position in the road.

_Only you_.

"How's Stefan?" she counters instead of voicing her secret thoughts.

"Are we really here to talk about Stefan?"

It hurts a little that his tone is more resigned than disappointed.

"No," Elena affirms softly, patting the ground beside her.

Damon hesitates for a moment before joining her, sliding an arm behind his head.

"But I was right, you know," she continues, watching a cloud drift across the moon. "You are the one that's going to save him from himself."

She hates herself for almost screwing that up, too.

"Why are we here, Elena?" he asks after a moment, unable to completely hide the trace of bitterness in his words.

She's not really sure how she ended up here, in this road, but she knows now that it's important, this place of endings and beginnings. "I remember this place," she answers as best she can, "I remember _you_ in this place." Elena steels herself when he doesn't respond. "I was so _angry_ with you, you know."

"I'm sure I deserved it," he answers darkly.

She turns to him, wishing he would look at her. "You took those memories from me," she says – it's a fact, not an accusation. "You took away a chance for me to know you – know _all_ of you, not just the mask you show the world."

He frowns, finally turning towards her, opens his mouth to protest – no doubt to tell her she didn't seem all that interested in knowing him.

"Don't tell me you don't want the expectations," she silences him with a finger to his lips. "Don't tell me you don't want people to count on you – don't want _me_ to count on you. Because I _do_ count on you, Damon, we _all_ count on you, and now…" she lays back again, the cool air on her hot cheeks. "Now," she holds her hand to her chest, feels her heart beat with all of her heightened emotions that she still has a hard time keeping in check, "I understand a little better, I think."

"You shouldn't rely on me," he speaks quietly after a moment.

"Yes I should," she answers, reaching out to take his free hand in hers, scraping their knuckles lightly against the pavement. She's relieved when he doesn't pull away, turns back to look at him. "How many times have you saved my life, Damon?"

There's a flash of pain in his eyes as his fingers tighten around hers. "Not when it mattered the most."

"It's never mattered in the way you think," Elena bites her lip. "You've always tried to help me be better… see more truth."

A line creases his forehead and in a flash he's pulled away from her, sped ten yards away. She feels the sudden absence like a slap across the face. "Don't make me into a saint, Elena," he mutters, his back to her, arms crossed. "I've hurt you too many times for that."

Elena isn't letting him walk away from her this time, though. It's taken a long time – too long, maybe, but the longer they keep talking the more she feels like this is what she's been missing for years, and she refuses to believe she's too late.

She's can't have messed this up again.

"Yes," she acknowledges, speeding around to make him look her in the eye, "you've hurt me. But I've hurt you, too. And I'm so _sorry_ for that – I'm so sorry that no one ever told you that you're good enough – that _I_ never told you that you're good enough."

When he finally meets her gaze, there's enough turbulent power in those bright blue depths to knock the breath out of her.

"I know you have your faults," she goes on gently, "but so do I. And one of mine – one of the very biggest ones that I regret the most – is not listening to my heart, and just hiding behind what's familiar and safe."

Damon seems to take this all in guardedly, and it kills her that this isn't easier for him to accept.

"Why now?" he keeps his arms crossed.

Elena takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. She's only just allowed herself to see things clearly, after all. "When my parents died, I put up these… these blinders. Everything just felt so hopeless, and I was afraid of what damage I could do. I stopped trusting myself when it came to what I wanted, or needed – what I really felt. But when I became a vampire, it got harder and harder to ignore those feelings, and to hold onto the comfortable life I'd constructed for myself."

"I'm not sure I'd call our lives 'comfortable,'" Damon interrupts her with a hint of smirk.

She smiles tentatively, sensing she might be breaking through. "You know what I mean," she goes on, a hitch growing in her voice. "I did what was safe. Easy. But you always saw _me_ – from the first moment we met, you knew _me_."

Elena feels the single tear escape the corner of her eye, leans into Damon's touch as he instinctively reaches out to brush it away.

"And it took me awhile," she struggles to continue, looking down apprehensively, "but I finally realized that the way you love – that fierce, loyal, consuming love – it isn't something to be so afraid of, because it's the same kind of love that's in me. I know it won't be easy – but I don't _want_ easy anymore. I want to be honest with myself. I want to know you as well as you know me. I want to give this – give _us_ – a chance."

His hand hasn't moved, his whole _body_ seems frozen in uncertain contemplation, and she lifts her gaze to see him staring down at her with such intensity that she can't look away. They've moved impossibly close together now, and she can't stop herself from reaching out to touch him.

His fingers ghost over her face, her neck, her shoulders – even as her hands snake their way into his hair.

Their eyes never break contact.

She gasps when he places the slightest pressure to the small of her back, pulling her against him. As his lips finally close the distance to hers, it feels a little like Denver, only she isn't so scared anymore – and it doesn't feel so much like they're operating on borrowed time.

Mostly, it just feels like everything she was ever searching for, even when Damon was the only one who could see it.

* * *

"Okay," Damon feels the mischievous grin inch across his features as they finally pull apart, just a few seconds shy of finding the forest floor a suitable bed. "Ready to try something fun?"

"I kind of thought this was fun…" she grins up at him, and so help him if he doesn't find her incredibly sexy. But there's also a vulnerability in her features that she rarely lets anyone see. It's the same vulnerability he knows is inside him, too, because he doesn't know how this works out, doesn't know what this means, or how they do this.

But he's going to try. And he's going to try it his way – what he hopes is still _their _way.

"This other thing first," he promises with a kiss to her forehead, turning and leading her at a dead run through the woods without further preamble.

And she follows him without question, which feels like the right start.

Elena stops when he does, takes in the view around them with a gentle sense of awe – moonlight cascading across the trees below them, and illuminating the precipice they're standing on.

"Damon?" Elena shouts over the rushing water of the falls that give their town its name.

"Yea?" he turns as he leads her forward.

"I love you," she mouths, with an honest smile that lights up her whole face.

Something clicks into place inside Damon at that moment, and for a second he can't see anything else but her – can't feel anything else but her hand in his.

"You ready?" he raises his eyebrows as they come up to the very edge, teetering on the slick rock.

Elena looks wide-eyed for a moment as she realizes what he means. But then a rush of adrenaline-filled, nervous laughter escapes her, and she grins, nodding.

"One!" he yells, as she squeezes his fingers tighter. "Two…! Three!"

And they jump.


End file.
